


my brothers don't like it when you come around

by daikonradish



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 1990s, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cute, Fluff, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan is Whipped, M/M, Protective Older Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daikonradish/pseuds/daikonradish
Summary: There’s a crack in the door to the bedroom, and Taeyong squeezes beside Doyoung in order to get a look inside, right above Johnny on his knees, and Jaehyun on his tippy toes. They collectively stare at the boy typing into the pink flip phone, the sound of sweet laughter following every movement of his fingers across the keyboard.“What do you think it is?” Johnny whispers, head resting on his palms.“I don’t know.” Taeyong answers, a somber expression on his face. “But it can’t be anything good.”
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 62
Kudos: 742
Collections: Markhyuck, My Favorite Fics





	my brothers don't like it when you come around

**Author's Note:**

> self isolation really be hitting different 🥴 this is shamelessly inspired by the new music video, hold by winner

There is silence in the living room.

There is the static hum of the television as the washed-out colors of a red and orange flicker on the screen, the rerun of a talk show from the other night. There are a cluster of boys packed on an old, green couch, an assortment of colorful snacks in their laps and a tower of movies from blockbusters around them, but nobody makes a move.

Donghyuck giggles.

Taeyong turns his head to the right, while Johnny turns to the left, staring at the boy in the middle, the youngest in the house. Jaehyun has a potato chip in his hands, right at the edge of his mouth, but he doesn’t move, staring at the cover of the pink flip phone decorated with a crew of cute stickers of hearts and animals. Even Doyoung is quiet, lowering the volume of the television in order to somehow hear whatever is being energetically typed into the small phone.

Donghyuck giggles again, nose scrunching under the poorly dyed streaks of blue and green in his brown hair. There are a few scratches under his chin and a Spiderman band aid that is close to peeling off his suspiciously reddened cheeks.

There are waves of white that ride the television screen, but no one is watching the screen. Johnny opens his mouth to say something, his arms reaching back as if to stretch, but his elbows catch unwanted attention.

Donghyuck pauses, and one by one, he makes eye contact with all them.

When he has given all of them their very own withering glare, he crosses his arms, the pink phone safely tucked into his armpit, as he stands up in a rush to get to the next room.

They watch him as he leaves.

There is a cluster of blankets on the bed, with a few sweaters and shirts in the mix that stand out in patterns of flannel and floral, unquestionably collected from other bedrooms. There is a small opening, where Donghyuck can breathe and roll around, all while his face is glued to the screen of the pink flip phone.

There’s a crack in the door to the bedroom, and Taeyong squeezes beside Doyoung in order to get a look inside, right above Johnny on his knees, and Jaehyun on his tippy toes. They collectively stare at the boy typing into the pink flip phone, the sound of sweet laughter following every movement of his fingers across the keyboard.

“What do you think it is?” Johnny whispers, head resting on his palms.

“I don’t know.” Taeyong answers, a somber expression on his face. “But it can’t be anything good.”

There is a scattering of music playing from the cassette player.

Donghyuck hums the soft tune under his breath, while chopping an assortment of greens. While the others adore preparing food for the youngest boy in the house, it so happens that it is his turn to prepare dinner, which means it is the perfect chance for Taeyong to tiptoe to the pink phone, resting harmlessly on the counter.

Taeyong spares a glance at the younger boy, before his fingers are curling over the phone.

But Donghyuck must be psychic, because he turns around, the knife twinkling in his hands.

“What are you doing?” He frowns, mouth pushing out in a pout.

Taeyong chokes out a response, hiding his hands, “Nothing, nothing, just playing finger puppets with the guys. I’m just, going to be on my way now,” as he stumbles out of the kitchen.

They are gathered at the table, decorated with a yellow and white tablecloth that is stained with suspicious spots of water or soup or otherwise. Regardless of the clatters of cutlery against bowls and running tides splashing onto the table, it is remarkably silent for a weekend in the house. Johnny hasn’t even mentioned the bruise on his knee or Doyoung brought up the laundry that has been sitting in the washer. They are too busy looking at the pink flip phone.

Donghyuck giggles, his features flushing from his nose to his ears, painting him a shade of pink.

The seaweed soup in front of him is untouched, his spoon and fork waiting on the side.

Johnny leans over, trying to catch a peek. On the other side, Jaehyun copies his movements, leaning his chair back and narrowing his eyes to the letters on the screen. His hands are wandering in the direction of a pink phone, but Donghyuck pulls away from his reach, holding the phone out to properly frown at him.

Doyoung takes the chance to take the phone from across the table, but Donghyuck catches him in time.

Donghyuck stands up, his chair falling backwards, and with a curse he throws his wine glass of water at the older boy, dousing Doyoung in room temperature water. Beside him, Taeyong brings the last spoonful of soup to his mouth, quite enjoying the dinner made by the youngest in the house.

Donghyuck stomps away, running his mouth like a sailor.

Doyoung turns his head to the sky, in a prayer.

All alone on the couch, Donghyuck has a collection of fluffed up pillows under his arms as he types into the pink flip phone, the charm of a small, baby lion swinging from the bump of an antenna, matching the increase of the glossy stickers of safari animals that are covering all inches of the phone.

But, he’s not alone.

There is a quartet of boys sneaking behind him, hands reaching forward.

Taeyong reaches forward, only a moment before the others, stealing the phone out of small hands and rolling down the couch with all the grace of a giraffe on ice. He continues all the way to the front of the room, right in front of the static television that plays a cartoon from the other night. The brothers tumble after the pink phone, even as Donghyuck curses behind them.

They don’t have to read the messages of the bright screen to understand what is going on. All they see is the hearts, the adorable emoticons, and most damning of them all – the sickeningly, sweet pet names – and they are howling, absolutely cracking down with laughter.

They parade around the room, laughing and clutching their stomachs. Jaehyun is pretending to kiss the coat stand, tongue and all, while Johnny has opened the window, howling an assortment of pet names into the world. Doyoung is on the coffee table, swinging around as snacks fall to the ground. Only Taeyong looks rather faint, staring at the phone.

Johnny is tossing the snacks into the air, catching them in his mouth, as Doyoung has taken to bringing two Russian dolls together in a passionate kiss, and Jaehyun is forming hearts with his hands as he dances around the room. Donghyuck can only take so much, when he frowns, his cheeks puffing out in exasperation.

He stomps out of the room, covering his ears as they follow him in a conga line of laughter and hearts. They follow him all the way up the stairs and to his room, where the slam of the door almost gets the tip of Jaehyun’s nose.

The doorbell rings.

Taeyong turns, staring at the front door. The other boys follow him, craning their heads and narrowing their eyes in an effort the see what is behind the door. Johnny is behind him and Jaehyun is by his side, so he doesn’t see them share a look, both wondering if they did remember to pay back their neighbor for the weed the other night.

“You expecting anyone?” Doyoung whispers, pushing away the laundry that he was going to do.

“I am.” Donghyuck answers, creaking down the stairs.

They watch as the youngest in the house patters down, dressed up in an oversized navy sweater in a pattern of lines and letters in white and green that most definitely does not belong to him, neatly matched with dark jeans. The streaks in his hair have faded into a muted blue and green invention in his burnished brown hair. They have a terrible feeling that he washed his hair. Even worse, that he washed his face.

“Oh, no,” Jaehyun feels like the room is spinning, “It’s happening.”

“What’s the procedure?” Doyoung sucks in shallow breaths. “What do we do people?”

“Stay calm.” Johnny is looking at nothing, eyes glazed over, “We have to stay fucking calm.”

The doorbell rings again.

They all look at Taeyong.

“I’ll get the door.” Taeyong states, locking his jaw into a deep frown. When he reaches to open the door, the other boys right behind him, it’s instinct that he heightens his shoulders, raising his chin to look at whatever is on the other side.

There’s a young boy at the door, presumably around Donghyuck’s age. He’s dressed in a white button-up that matches the shade of fair skin, his black hair cut right above his eyes. He looks at the four brothers in front of him with the widest of eyes, but then he’s looking at whatever is behind them.

“Oh,” The boy says, as if someone punched his throat.

Jaehyun steps in the way of his view, frowning. Beside him, Taeyong growls, deep in his throat, and he doesn’t feel so bad about it when the boy doesn’t cower in fear.

“Uh, hey,” The boy starts, his voice surprisingly low, “I’m Mark.”

“What are your intentions with Donghyuck?” Doyoung interrupts, clashing shoulders against Taeyong.

They don’t have the chance to respond because Johnny is pushing to the front, cramming Jaehyun and Doyoung against the doorframes, while his eyes are still hazy as he asks, “Have you ever done weed? Cause that shit’s not good, man. I would never. Never have, never will.”

It only takes a tap of the foot for all the boys to turn to Donghyuck, arms crossed as he stands behind the manmade wall of his four brothers. He glares at them with glimmering eyes, mouth pushed out in a petulant pout, which makes it easy to tell that there is the light sheen of pink gloss on his lips. They collectively wonder where an acceptable place in the house to faint would be.

“Move.” Donghyuck states.

And they part like the red sea.

He pushes past them with the scent of strawberries and cream, reaching for Mark’s hand.

“Come on.” Donghyuck smiles, eyes crinkling.

They watch him as he leaves, until Taeyong is shaken out of his stupor and shouts, “Leave the door open!”

They did not, in fact, leave the door open.

Johnny has his ear pressed to the door, trying to listen in on the conversation, while Jaehyun is on the floor, looking into the room through the crack at the bottom of the door. Taeyong stands to the side, chewing on his nails as he watches Doyoung fiddle with the lock on the door.

It’s a pretty good lock. They are the ones that put it in, after all.

Doyoung has a screwdriver pushed into the keyhole, turning it around and around, and in a moment of true innovation, around and around, but there doesn’t seem to be a catch or rhythm to the lock.

“I can’t hear anything.” Johnny whispers, his forehead resting on the door, “This fucking blows.”

“Me too.” Jaehyun says in agreement, ears on the ground, “Maybe they’re not doing anything?”

“I doubt it.” Doyoung hisses, jamming the screwdriver into the hole. “Horny fucking teenagers.”

The others look at him, horrified.

“Like teenagers that are really fucking horny,” He continues, weakly. “Not horny teenagers that are fucking,”

But the damage is done. Johnny growls, pushing Doyoung to the side so that he can shove the screwdriver into the lock, rattling it around in a desperate effort to break-in.

There’s a giggle, and they all become still.

The giggle is followed by a muffled, almost wet sound.

Taeyong doesn’t think when he kicks open the door, the boards of painted wood splintering as the supposedly secure hinges come undone and leave the door to fall onto it’s back. The others are right behind him, clamoring forward in a rush to get inside, causing him to fall over, creating a mound of flailing limbs on top of the broken door.

Donghyuck has his back turned on them, and for a moment, there is peace.

But then he laughs, the sweet sounds of laughter causing his small frame to shake in amusement, and they become painfully aware of the pale hands on his waist that are preventing him from falling from the bed. Although Donghyuck doesn’t turn, seemingly oblivious to the fact that his door is broken, Mark tilts his head, his wide eyes coming over the brothers.

“Oh, shit,” Mark curses.

And his mouth is covered in pink gloss.

The neighborhood will look back on the night where there was a boombox playing the greatest country hits on the front porch, a collection of small firecrackers and slightly less small fireworks blasting into the sky, almost hiding the sound of coins hitting the ground as four brothers held a boy upside down, rattling everything out of his pockets, before throwing him on the roof. When asked why he didn’t do anything, next-door neighbor Moon Taeil answers, “It was the procedure. Just the procedure. I heard that the kid smoked weed or something like that? Terrible, really. I would never sell weed, myself.”


End file.
